


Soccer Injuries

by Strength_in_pain



Series: John and his boys [31]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brothers, Comforting Dean Winchester, Crying Sam, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 01:06:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17798171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: Sam hiccups and sits up, scrubbing at his cheeks. “Is Dad around?” he asks, making an awful coughing noise as another sob rips through him.Dean shakes his head, eyes wide and worried. “No, no, he’s on the couch sleeping. What’s going on?”ORSam played Soccer when his Dad told him not to and now his ankle is swollen and he doesn’t want to tell his Dad.





	Soccer Injuries

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> I feel like it’s been so long, but I guess it hasn’t been that long. This is pretty short, but I think the content makes up for it because I have a hurt Sam. So all you Sam girls might like this one. ;)

> **Supernatural or Soccer Injuries**
> 
> **Dean 16**
> 
> **Sam 12**

 

“Owwwwww!” 

 

Dean sprung out of bed like a jack-in-the-box. The dark motel room was only lit with the moonlight from the window, but Dean could still make out his brother’s silhouette. 

 

“Sam? You okay?” 

 

The younger boy with shaggy brown hair, threw two hands over his mouth, biting back a groan. 

 

“Yeah,” He said strained. Then he coughed,  to take the hurt out of his voice, “I’m fine.” 

 

“Sam, I’m not an idiot.” 

 

“Well that’s debatable.” 

 

“Watch it, bitch.” Dean scolded playfully. 

 

Before Sam could respond, he convulsed forward, a huge wave of pain pulsing through his ankle once again. 

 

“Sammy?” 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

This was ridiculous. He should tell Dean, he could tell Dean, but what if Dad found out? 

 

He stares at the ceiling, tapping guitar parts out on his chest to try and distract himself. He had one of Dean’s stupid Bon Jovi songs stuck in his head. The pain isn’t subsiding, though, and his eyes are watering up, uninvited. He can’t help it, his leg feels excruciatingly painful. He bites down on his lip hard enough that he fears it might bleed, something he always thought was impossible but is looking seriously likely. Holy fuck, does it hurt. Maybe he sprained his ankle, or something. It was just a soccer game. But if Sam can concuss himself from slipping on ice, then it’s in the realm of possibility. 

 

He swallows a pained cry. It’s definitely getting worse, since he can’t even stay still and fight the pain. He bites onto the neck of his t-shirt, muffling his whimpers. His throat tightens, and he blinks rapidly in attempt to curb the tears.

 

His resolve was wearing thin, and then he’s crying, just little hot tears at first that shouldn’t bother him but do. And as it always does, silent crying in his bed rapidly turns into heavy, ugly sobs that don’t ease the pain in his ankle, but feel good nonetheless. 

 

Of course, Dean’s bed is right across, and Sam flinches when he feels Dean’s hands shaking his shoulders. Then he’s running a quick hand through Sam’s mussed hair. 

 

“Sam,” he says softly, “what’s wrong?”

Sam hiccups and sits up, scrubbing at his cheeks. “Is Dad around?” he asks, making an awful coughing noise as another sob rips through him.

Dean shakes his head, eyes wide and worried. “No, no, he’s on the couch sleeping. What’s going on?” 

Sam shakes his head so fervently it bangs against the back of the headboard and he lets out a half cry, half moan. 

“It hurts so bad,” Sam sobs. “I just want it to stop hurting.”

“What? Your ankle?” Dean says understanding flashing across his face. “That bad?” 

“Hurts like hell,” Sam gasps out. “I don’t know why it hurts so bad, but I want to throw up.” His head drops to his chest, crying pathetically and letting the tears soak the front of his shirt where they drip off his chin.

Dean shifts into mother hen mode almost automatically. “Let’s get you to the couch,” he says. “Can you walk?”

Sam shakes his head again, knuckles white where he grips the edge of the bed. 

“I’m gonna get Dad.” Dean says, and Sam’s eyes fly wide open in panic.

“No, please,” Sam begs desperately. “He’s going to make me quit the team.” Sam starts crying harder, knowing it’s ridiculous at this point to put up any sort of protest whatsoever, but Dean is patient, and strokes his cheek, wiping away some tears with his thumb. It hardly matters; Sam’s whole face is soaked now, and he can’t stop crying now that he’s started. 

“Sam, I think you must have really hurt yourself.” Dean says gently. “I need Dad to look at your ankle, and probably take you to the hospital.” 

Sam let’s out a panicked sob. “Please Dean. I didn’t mean to get hurt. Dad will kill me if I use our insurance on something like this. It’s just a little twisted ankle.” 

“I think it’s broken.” Dean says softly, “but don’t worry about Dad. I won’t let him kick you off the soccer team and I won’t let him yell at you. It isn’t your fault you got hurt at soccer and not by a weindigo.” 

Sam sniffles, using the back of his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face. Dean went and got Dad. It was humiliating for Sam, but his Dad wasn’t mean.

“Whoa,” Dad says, pausing with his arm around Sam’s back, “What’s wrong?”

“His ankle. I just told you that two seconds ago.” Dean says irritable. 

Luckily John ignored him and focused on Sam or Dean would be getting it. 

“We should get a look at your ankle,” John says, and pushes up the leg of Sam’s sweatpants. All of the boys hiss at the nasty sight. “Jesus fucking christ, Sam, it’s huge. No wonder your in pain. You should have told me earlier. What is the one rule about injuries that I always tell you boys?” 

“You told Dean. You never told me I had to do it.” 

John gives him the death glare. “Whatever I tell one of you, it goes for the other one as well.” 

“Sorry Dad.”

“What is the rule?” 

“To tell you when we’re hurt. Even if we don’t think it’s anything.” Sam mumbles. 

“That’s right. I don’t think I need to remind  you what happened to Dean when he didn’t tell me about his back.” 

“No sir.” Sam whispered, giving Dean a sympathetic look. His poor brother was hospitalized for a week because his cut got infected. Dean really went through hell with his back injury and if it felt anything like how Sam’s ankle is feeling, then Sam wants to hug his brother and tell him how amazing he is for withstanding such agonizing pain for so long. 

“Come on, Sammy. I’m going to carry you to the car. We gotta get this in a cast.” 

Sam sniffles and nods, giving in. Better to take care of it now. He does want to feel better. 

Between both Dean and John, they manage to dry Sam’s face, and John holds Sam’s hand. Sam is grateful for the comfort, even though he’s still white in the face and fighting off the nausea. 

“Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.” Dean says. It’s his go-to-line, but Sam believes him every time. Not because Dean’s words are comforting, but because they are familiar. He’s been hearing it since he was old enough to understand words. 

Sam feels so relieved that all this hell will end soon and he will be okay, like Dean says. 


End file.
